


Nobody Can Steal Christmas From Effie Trinket

by EllanaSan



Series: Hayffismas 2017 [2]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Crack, F/M, Hayffismas Week, Ugly Holiday Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 01:55:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13066716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllanaSan/pseuds/EllanaSan
Summary: She stared.Honestly, what else was she supposed to do?He was wearing antlers. Plushy brown reindeer antlers.And an awful Christmas sweater over his pressed shirt and tie.She forgot all about the antlers when she realized that what she had mistaken for an ugly – and yet seasonal – Christmas sweater was a fraud.“Please. Do tell me this Santa Claus is not urinating the words ‘Merry Christmas’ on your chest.”  she requested in a terse tone.Day 2: The Haymitch Who Stole Christmas





	Nobody Can Steal Christmas From Effie Trinket

**Author's Note:**

> It's Day 2! The Haymitch who stole Christmas and it is very much crack. I hope you enjoy it!

 

“ _Haymitch_.” Effie sing-sang cheerfully, impatiently tapping the top of her heeled shoe against the floor. “We are past fashionably late! _Do_ hurry!”

She inspected her reflection in the mirror that faced the elevator, studying her golden and white dress critically. She looked like a magnificent bird. The skirt part was long and flowed down to the floor and the top part was like a sleeveless jacket made entirely of white feather adorned with golden paint. It was lovely. Exquisite.

And it would be the talk of the evening if they showed up _before_ the red carpet was over.

She usually loved Christmas and its numerous parties but this year, she was stressed out.

Annie Cresta’s Victory Tour was a phenomenal _nightmare_. Not that it was _official,_ of course _,_ everything was all _hush-hush_ and _need-to-know_ only, but Seneca was so exhausted with the whole thing he had told her _all_ about it the other night at dinner. The poor girl was so disturbed still they were forced to keep her appearances short and even Finnick Odair in all his glory couldn’t compensate the elusiveness of the new victor all by himself.

The solution to that problem had been to bring back as many victors as possible to the city for the duration of the Tour and the holidays as a decoy. And it was working. The Capitol was not looking at the expense to throw luscious parties every day, keeping the Games’ dream alive. Effie loved Christmas and she was having a lot of fun at all those themed parties.

But she was also tasked with babysitting a very grumpy Haymitch – who, as she had been told _numerous times,_ hated Christmas, hated the city and didn’t understand _why_ he needed to be there at all given that nobody wanted to see the drunk victor from Twelve anyway – and that was a constant source of stress. He seemed to be acting out even more than usual, getting drunk with Chaff at all times of day under the pretext of sampling mulled wine and being very vocal about his lack of love for the holidays.

Which had led to more than one fight and she had lost count of how many lectures and rants.

Earlier that afternoon, she had _firmly_ and _very seriously_ told him that she didn’t intend to let him ruin her fun that night. It was Christmas Eve and she wouldn’t let him spoil it for her. She had _insisted_ he was to show up ready to celebrate and that she didn’t care where he would find it but that he _better_ had summoned some Christmas spirit.

He had scoffed and told her to go to hell, of course, but she thought the part about her swearing to not let him touch her for a very, _very_ long time if he didn’t had caught his attention.

Now if only he could be on time…

 _Finally_ , she heard a door slam down the corridor that led to the bedrooms and she rolled her eyes before checking that her right fake eyelashes were holding. It seemed heavier than the other one and the tiny golden stars on it kept flickering in her sight every time she blinked. Her reflection looked alright to her though so she supposed she would simply _have_ to bear the discomfort.

“You look like a goose.” Haymitch grumbled as a greeting.

She pursed her lips and turned toward him to tell him in no uncertain terms that he was a ruffian with no sense of fashion but the words died on her lips.

She stared.

Honestly, what else was she supposed to do?

He was wearing antlers. Plushy brown reindeer antlers.

And an _awful_ Christmas sweater over his pressed shirt and tie.

Her first reaction was to be pleased he had taken her request to get into the spirit to heart. Her second was to try to find the diplomatic words to tell him to get rid of the whole thing because they were going to a party with _cameras,_ not to someone’s Christmas brunch – and, then again, she wasn’t sure it would have been appropriate to wear that sort of things at a casual brunch anyway, they weren’t fashionable. Her third reaction was to look more closely at the sweater.

She forgot all about the antlers when she realized that what she had mistaken for an ugly – and yet seasonal – Christmas sweater was a _fraud_.  

“Please. _Do_ tell me this Santa Claus is not urinating the words _‘Merry Christmas’_ on your chest _.”_  she requested in a terse tone.

The Santa was fortunately turning his back on the world so nothing _untoward_ could be seen. But the yellow spray was _definitely_ supposed to be urine. She was certain. She supposed that made the white background snow.

How _classy_.

Not to mention typically _male_. Why they were always so proud of being able to urinate while standing up was beyond her…

“You said to gear up for Christmas.” he shrugged with nonchalance. “That’s me. All geared up.”

She narrowed her eyes at him – which had the unfortunate effect of making her almost blind on her right side because of those irritating fake eyelashes. “Where did you even _find_ this?”

“Well, you _also_ said I should learn to like Christmas shopping…” he mocked, pressing the elevator’s call button. As if she would _ever_ allow him to leave like _that_. She swiftly moved between him and the elevator doors but that didn’t seem to disturb him at all. “Chaff and I found this little shop… You were right. _Lots_ of fun. Wait until you see _his_ sweater, sweetheart.”

“Chaff may do whatever he wants on his own escort’s terms.” she hissed. “ _You_ are not wearing this _monstrosity_ to the party.” She pouted. “I will be nice and let you keep the antlers. It is appropriately whimsical, I suppose.”

“ _Whimsical_.” he repeated in that mocking tone that meant he thought she was being condescending. “Can’t you say _funny_ like everyone else? What do you’ve got to talk like a dictionary for?”

“To compensate your dreadful use of grammar.” she deadpanned. The elevator chimed behind her back and she hastily spread her arms when she heard the doors opening, barring his path. “Take the sweater off.”

“No way.” he refused. “I like it.”

“ _Of course_ , you do.”  she gritted through her teeth. “Then, you can wear it tomorrow morning for Christmas breakfast. It will only be you and me and I will make the effort not to be offended. But tonight, you are taking it _off_.”

“Always so eager to take my clothes off.” he taunted, pushing past her and into the elevator.

She glared at him. “You are _not_ going to this party like _this,_ Haymitch.”

He defiantly pressed the ground floor’s button. “Looks like I _am_ , Trinket.”

“I will murder you.” she threatened. The doors were closing and she sneaked between them before she could be left behind – she had _no doubt_ he would leave her behind. “I _swear_. If you try to get into the car with this thing on your back I will…”

“Do your worst.” he smirked.

_He wasn’t going to cave._

She had been Haymitch’s escort for eight years now. She knew him. This wasn’t just a simple case of pushing her buttons for the pleasure of annoying her but eventually giving in to her pleas. He _wasn’t_ going to cave. This was probably a planned prank that involved Chaff and the two of them intended to show up with _shameful tasteless_ sweaters come hell or high waters.

She wasn’t sure if she hoped Viola had actually managed to stop her own victor or not. She didn’t want those two idiots to get the satisfaction of pulling this out but she didn’t want to be the only escort unable to control her victor either.

It was harmless enough, she figured. People would laugh, Caesar would have them on air to talk about it, Haymitch would gloat and she would rant… Same old, same old.

But still… At the end of the day, she would be the butt of the joke because she was the one who was in charge of his PR.

“Why do you hate me so?” she pouted, tugging on the hem of the sweater. 

“So many reasons.” he snorted. “You want a complete list?”

She deepened her pout, looking up at him from under her fake eyelashes in her best kicked puppy impersonation. She fingered the soft wool, inching it up slowly so she could run her free palm over the shirt he had underneath…

It was a nice shirt. The one that went with the tuxedo he had been supposed to be wearing.

There would be no jacket and that would be a _fashion faux-pas_ but at least he would be presentable. Now if only she could convince him to take it off for a second… They might be too late for the red carpet then but _priorities._

“You ain’t gonna _fuck_ me out of this sweater.” he warned, more amused than turned on. “But I don’t mind you trying, Princess.”

She huffed and stepped away from him, her pouting turning into a genuine sulk. “I _hate_ you.”

“Right.” he drawled out, taunting.

She refused to bite.

“I am _not_ speaking to you again while you are wearing this _thing_.” she declared.

“ _Shit_. I’m never gonna take it off now.” he chuckled.

The car trip was short but it felt endless. Mainly because he kept trying to make her break her oath not to talk to him by plucking feathers from her lovely dress. At least until she kicked his leg with the blunt of her stiletto – _that_ made him stop, if only because he needed both hands to rub his now bruised shin.

It was immediately clear to her they were amongst the last to arrive and she distanced herself from him as much as possible, posing for pictures and waving at fans but being _very_ careful not to be caught on camera next to Haymitch. His sweater and his antlers were getting him _a lot_ of attention but it was the sort she could do without.

She didn’t find it as hilarious as everyone else.

The hotel the party was at was _gorgeous_. There were ice sculptures everywhere, a giant Christmas tree and fake snowflakes slowly pouring down from the ceiling… It looked like a winter wonderland.

Haymitch seized two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handed her one. She took it but only because it was a necessary accessory at a party – not because she had forgiven him or was swayed by this rare show of manners.

It didn’t take her long to spot another pair of antlers in the crowd. She gasped when she caught sight of Chaff’s sweater though. She had thought he would be wearing a matching one to Haymitch’s not…

“Please, tell me those three reindeers are _not_ doing what I think they are doing.” she begged.

“They’re not.” Haymitch replied. “Unless you think they’re having a threesome. ‘Cause… They’re clearly not dancing the rumba, sweetheart.”

“Oh my…” she let that sentence trail off, blinked and took a generous sip of champagne. “I need something stronger. Do _not_ get wasted, Haymitch, I _mean_ it. I am not carrying you back.”

She headed to the bar, allowing him to go join his friend and laugh about that prank they had pulled all their might. And laugh, they did. They were ridiculous. Like children.

“Your tasteless fashion sense has rubbed on Haymitch, I see.” Viola commented, sliding between her and the group of people next to her and signaling the bartender she wanted the same thing Effie had ordered. “Did he _have_ to get my victor involved?”

“I rather think _your_ victor is the real culprit here.” she scoffed. “He is _always_ getting mine in trouble.”

Eleven’s escort eyed her up and down with disdain. “You look like a bird. _What_ is even this dress?”

“The trend everyone will follow tomorrow.” she retorted with a charming smile. “What _are_ you wearing? Last month’s outfit?”

Viola scoffed, grabbed the drink the bartender had poured her and disappeared in the crowd, no doubt to talk ill about her lovely dress. Effie smoothed her ruffled feathers – metaphorical and otherwise – and started mingling too.

Those cocktails were strong though and she felt tipsy before long. She tended not to drink when Haymitch was, so one of them would be sober in case some emergency damage control was needed, but it was Christmas and at Christmas she let loose. Still, when the room started swaying, she decided to quit for the night. She ended up perched on the armrest of the armchair her victor had commandeered, glaring at Chaff’s sweater in distaste.

“Face it, love…” Eleven’s victor joked, wriggling his eyebrows. “You wanna be the middle reindeer…”

She wrinkled her nose and Haymitch’s hand landed on her thigh, a not so subtle possessive declaration faced with that disgusting innuendo.

“Crass.” she grumbled, swaying dangerously. Those cocktails _had_ been a little too much. Everywhere she looked, everyone seemed completely wasted.

“Careful.” Haymitch muttered, sneaking his arm behind her back because she had almost lost her balance. “Can’t you use a chair like a normal person? What happened to ladies don’t sit on furniture?” She confusedly admitted he had a point and she was too tipsy to trust her balance so she did the natural thing and slid down onto his lap. His arm immediately wrap around her waist in reflex. He scowled. “Great. Now we’re fifteen.”

Chaff, meanwhile, was laughing like it was the best joke.

Effie shifted until she was sitting sideway with a clear view of the urinating Santa. She poked it hard with her sharp nail, prompting a groan of pain out of Haymitch.

“I will _not_ let you steal Christmas away from me, you grumpy bear.” she declared.

“Oh, you’re _her_ _bear_ , now, buddy.” Chaff chortled. “This _keeps_ getting better and better. The boy’s gonna be sorry he missed it.”

Effie glared at Eleven’s victor. “Stop mocking me. Haymitch, tell him to stop mocking me. It is not nice. He is hurting my feelings, that makes me nauseous.”

“That’s probably all the booze you drank, Princess.” Haymitch teased.

She rolled her eyes. “I am less drunk than you are… I am _always_ less drunk than you are. And do you know _why_? Because _I_ am the responsible one.”

“Sure, you are.” he humored her.

“Hate to break it to you but you’re toasted, love.” Chaff chuckled, tilting his glass in her direction.

Effie decided to ignore him. She turned her attention to the antlers on Haymitch’s head instead. She brushed her fingers along their length, up and down again and again, humming in surprised pleasure at the plushy texture. “It is _so_ soft… I could touch it _all night_.”

Chaff was laughing so hard he bent in two.

“Quit it.” Haymitch grumbled. “Seriously. She’s got a point, you know. You act like you’re five sometimes.” But a smile was tugging at his own lips and he took off his antlers to plant them on her head. “Here, sweetheart. You keep the soft stuff on your own head but don’t touch it like that, yeah? You’re gonna give someone a boner.”

“Thank you.” she beamed at the gift, thanking him for his generosity by pressing a long peck on his cheek. It landed close to the corner of his mouth, which was really a big no-no in a crowded room. She wasn’t drunk enough not to realize _that_. She immediately bit down on her bottom lip, glancing around guiltily.

“ _Okay_.” Haymitch snorted. “Time to call it a night, yeah?”

She nodded sheepishly. “Perhaps I _am_ a little bit drunk.”

“Yeah. _Just_ a little bit.” he teased, reaching out to clap Chaff’s shoulder. “You want to ride back with us?”

“Do _not_ offer him to _ride_ with us.” Effie protested. “He will think you mean it like those reindeers of his. He _has_ a dirty mind, you know.”

“Thought it was rude to talk about people in front of them or some shit?” he rebuked, eyes twinkling with mirth, giving his knee a little shake to jostle her.

She pouted. Both because he was right and she didn’t like being scolded about her manners and because her stomach didn’t feel that good.

“That’s fine, buddy.” Chaff refused, clearly not offended since he was still laughing. “I’m gonna try to find a bird to pluck.”

“ _Charming_.” Effie commented under her breath.

“Come on. Up.” Haymitch demanded jerking his legs again. That was directed at _her_ , she figured, and she stood up, surprised by the suddenly tilting world. Haymitch’s hand was at the small of her back before she could fall though, his other one gripping her forearm tight. She wasn’t sure how he had moved so fast. Or maybe it was her who was slow. He didn’t look so amused now. “You know I hate those role reversals, right? Let’s go, sweetheart.”

She let him stir her away toward the exit and usher her to the car. There were a few flashes but there weren’t as many people outside as usual. It was Christmas after all, people had other things to do than stalk celebrities.

She curled up against his side in the car, manhandling his arm until it was wrapped around her. He sighed with clear annoyance but let her cuddle him – to her absolute delight. Well, the delight lasted until the car started moving, then she buried her face in that awful – but surprisingly soft – sweater.

“I feel sick.” she complained.

“Try not to puke on me.” was his only request.

“You would deserve it.” she mumbled against his sweater. “You tried to spoil Christmas.”

She didn’t need to look to know he was rolling his eyes.

She was a little sleepy by the time the car arrived at the Center and she refused to move when he tried to get out of the car.

“Are there people outside?” she asked.

He glanced out the open door and then shrugged. “Just the Peacekeepers.”

“Good.” she declared. “Then you can carry me.”

He did a double take at that and then snorted. “Like hell. You’re walking.”

“No.” she sulked, moving away from him just enough to outstretch her arms. “I am tired and drunk and it is _all_ your fault.”

“How is it my fault you got _shit-faced_?” he scoffed.

“You urinated on my Christmas.” she retorted, pointing at the guilty Santa on his chest. “It upset me and I drank to forget.”

“You get upset over the smallest stuff.” he dismissed, getting out of the car before she could make a grab for him. “Get out of here. It’s freezing outside.”

“Carry me.” she repeated.

He pursed his lips in annoyance. “I hate when you’re acting like a spoiled brat. You walk or I’m leaving you here.”

“You would _never_ leave me here alone!” she gasped.

“Wanna bet?” he challenged.

“Fine.” she snapped, dramatically flopping down on the car bench seat, letting her legs dangle out the door. “Leave me here for any passing ruffian to do what they want to my poor drunk body.”

She was confident there were enough Peacekeepers around that she was perfectly safe. She might even convince one of them to carry her up to the penthouse. After all, she wasn’t without charms. Haymitch was simply impervious to them.

“Alright, then.” he shrugged. “Night, sweetheart.”

He turned and left. He _actually_ strode away toward the Center’s doors. Effie lifted her head to watch him go and then dropped it back down, staring at the ceiling of the car and trying to force herself to move. But she was drunk and tired and her feet were hurting her.

And he wouldn’t leave her.

Would he?

Deep down she wasn’t sure and it upset her even more than the urinating Santa. Her lips started wobbling and she hastily blinked away the tears that suddenly burned her eyes, making the uncomfortable right fake eyelashes even more problematic. He _would_ leave her to be possibly assaulted. He _would_. And on Christmas Eve too! He was horrible and she hated him. She _did_. And she didn’t have feelings. Not at all. Because that would be _bad_. And…

Someone brutally grabbed her legs and pulled her out of the car. She shrieked in fright because for all her talk about possible danger she had never thought…

“You’re _fucking_ impossible.” Haymitch spat, tossing her over his shoulder like a caveman. “ _Fucking_ impossible.”

She shrieked even harder. “That is _not_ a proper way to carry a lady!”

“You’re not a lady, you’re a drunk mess.” he riposted. “Quit that screaming or I swear I’m dropping you here and I won’t come back this time.”

But he _had_ come back so she stopped shouting.

The position was making her face burn as blood rushed to her head though. And the pressure of his shoulder digging in her stomach… “I do not feel good.”

“You don’t say.” he grumbled. “Like I care.” But as soon as he had pressed the call button of the elevator, he put her back down on her own two feet. His grey eyes studied her, concern replaced by irritation when he realized she wasn’t about to be sick. “You’re a spoiled brat.”

It was the second time he had accused her of that tonight.

“You tried to ruin Christmas.” she hissed back.

“ _Fuck_ , you’re a broken record tonight, ain’t you?” he scowled. “What’s so important to you about Christmas anyway? I swear you’re like a kid.”

She pouted and tried to step into the elevator gracefully once the doors opened but all she managed to do was stumble on the long hem of her dress and fall. She didn’t break her neck but she hit her knees hard and she looked up with eyes full of tears when Haymitch burst out laughing.

“ _Shit_ , it’s almost worth not being completely wasted.” he commented.

She sat down and sniffed, both in pain and bruised pride, letting him push the right button as she bundled her dress to her waist to inspect the damage. She didn’t care if he could see the white lacy thong she had on underneath – or maybe she did a little and she was doing it on purpose, it was punishment because he certainly wasn’t going to touch it or take it off now.

“You’re not hurt, yeah?” he asked.

Far too late in her opinion.

She didn’t _think_ she was hurt.

“I _told_ you I did not want to walk.” she pointed out. “This is your fault.”

“Sure. Blame it on peeing Santa. Makes sense.” he deadpanned, crouching next to her to take a look at her legs. His palm was warm when he rubbed it against her knees and shins. “You want me to kiss it better, Princess?”

She tossed her dress back over her legs with a huff. “No.”

He chuckled but didn’t insist.

She busied herself taking off her shoes, wriggling her toes as soon as they were free to get rid of the ache in her soles. Her ankles were a little swollen but she didn’t think that was from the fall, more likely it was from being up on those tight stilettos all night.

The elevator eventually chimed when it reached the penthouse but she wasn’t sure she knew how to get up without falling again. Haymitch took pity on her and grabbed her under the armpits, lifting her up like a child. She thought he had only aimed to pull her to her feet but she took advantage and locked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, clinging to him like a monkey.

He sighed but didn’t protest, carefully exiting the elevator, arms locked under her ass to support her. He was walking toward the bedrooms and she started struggling.

“No! We have to go to the living-room!” she protested.

“Why?” he frowned.

“Because it is Christmas and I want to see the tree.” she explained.

“The tree’s still gonna be there in the morning.” he argued. “You’re wasted and you need to go to bed before I strangle you for being such an irritating little _shit_.”

“I want to see the tree.” she ordered and she would have stomped her foot, had she been standing.

“You know… Try to pull a temper tantrum on me and I’m gonna dump you in a cold bath. We’re clear?” he threatened.

She pouted and unlocked her legs from around his waist, letting go of his neck once she was on her feet. “I will go by myself.”

 _He_ didn’t let go of her. 

“You’re gonna fall and break your neck with this fucking dress.” he denied. “Stop being such a difficult _bitch_. I’m being nice here, yeah? I’m even gonna help you take that wig off if you just…”

He had a point about the dress and she stopped listening after that. Her clumsy fingers found the zipper hidden between feathers on her side and the fabric flooded down to her feet. She hadn’t realized how _heavy_ it had been. She felt much lighter in only her thong.

Haymitch was suddenly very quiet.

Then again, he always tended to grow quiet once faced with her bare breasts.

“Ain’t gonna lie…” he said eventually. “Never though those antlers could look so hot.”

She patted her wig, having completely forgotten about the antlers perched over it. She shrugged and carefully stepped out of the fabric of the dress pooled around her feet before heading straight for the living-room. Or trying to, at least. Straight was a relative concept when the floor wouldn’t remain steady.

She was aware Haymitch was hovering behind her, ready to break a possible fall, but she was a woman on a mission and she wouldn’t get distracted.

The living-room had been entirely decorated for the holidays, of course, and the tree in the corner was impressive. As were the wrapped boxes underneath but she wasn’t after the gifts for now.

“Alright, you saw the tree.” Haymitch grumbled. “Now let’s get you to bed…”

“I want to watch the lights!” she argued. “I _always_ watch the lights on Christmas Eve. It is tradition.”

“The _fuck_ are you talking about?” he frowned.

Without paying him any more mind, she pushed a few of the gifts aside to make room for herself and lied down with her head right under the tree, grinning in bliss when she saw the twinkling lights overhead.

Haymitch waited for a moment but when it became clear she wasn’t going to do anything else but stare at the fairy lights, he headed to the liquor cart in the corner and poured himself a drink. She heard the ice clicking against the glass.

“I do not understand why you hate Christmas so.” she remarked.

“’Cause it’s fake.” he sneered. “Just another excuse for you lot to party and give gifts.”

“Gifts are important.” she nodded, missing the point. “You will _love_ mine.”

She had bought him a gold pocket watch engraved with his initials. He would grumble and rant and swear he hated it but it was the type of fashionable accessories he actually loved and she _knew_ he would like it.

“Shouldn’t have bought me one.” he retorted. “Told you I didn’t do Christmas. Don’t go thinking I got you something.”

“You got me a _darling_ pair of shoes actually.” she hummed, patting the red gift with the golden ribbon to her right.

“What?” he frowned.

“You cannot _not_ do gifts when you are in the city, Haymitch.” she sighed in a long-suffering tone. “ _Of course_ , I had to purchase gifts for you. I sent Chaff bourbon on your behalf. I trust he will enjoy it. As for myself, I chose shoes.”

“With what money?” he growled.

“I have your checkbook.” she reminded him.

“Oh, so you just _forged_ my signature and _stole_ my money, that’s it?” he scowled. “Tell me, sweetheart… How are you gonna like getting your tongue cut for theft?”

She laughed because he would _never_ report her. And also she had been doing him a favor. He would have felt stupid when he would have realized that Chaff had sent him a gift and he had nothing to give back. As for her herself… She liked to call it compensation for all those years of hard work. And it hadn’t been _that_ expensive anyway. _And_ this way she was sure to get something _she_ liked – because let’s be honest if she had given him the watch and he hadn’t had anything to exchange for it, he would have made a fuss about her _buying him off_ or something and it would have ended in a fight where he would have eventually gone to buy something at random to make it even.

“I _love_ Christmas.” she sighed happily.

“You like free shoes.” he accused.

“That too.” she smiled, peeling the annoying eyelashes off her right eye and taking off the left ones too for good measure. She blinked a few times, glad to be able to see properly again. “I am cold.”

“That happens when you lie naked on the floor in the middle of winter.” Haymitch remarked, amused.

She heard the clicking of ice coming closer and she patted the spot next to her before he could sit on the couch. “Come watch the lights with me.”

“What’s so special about watching a bunch of lights twinkle anyway?” he scoffed.

“You are a regular Grinch.” she complained.

“What does that even mean?” he asked.

But he did come closer.

Something dropped on her lap and she looked up to find his offensive Christmas sweater on a heap on her thighs. She wasn’t sure she was _that_ cold but since he did sit down next to her, she made an effort and pulled it over her head.

“If you tell anyone I wore this I will deny it and destroy your reputation.” she warned, wrinkling her nose at the Santa that now paraded on her lower stomach.

“Don’t think I have much of a reputation left to ruin.” he mocked.

The sweater was warm from his having worn it and it was _really_ soft so she just lied back down, pulling on the sleeve of his shirt so he would to. Their sides pressed together, the twinkling lights overhead, the smell of pine she always associated with Christmas tree… Effie was in heaven.

“I’m still not getting it.” Haymitch declared after a couple of minutes.

She sighed.

Her brain was slowed down by all the cocktails she had drunk earlier and now that she was warm and comfortable… It was difficult to keep track of her thoughts.

“Christmas is all about colors.” she tried to explain. “Colors everywhere. I love colors. It’s all bright and shiny… _Happy_ … Pretty… Ice skating in secret… Hot chocolate even if I am not supposed to because I am a little princess and princesses are allowed hot chocolate even when they are on a diet…” Memories from long ago made her throat close up and she blinked, focusing on the lights. “I love colors…” she whispered. “They look so happy… Mother hates colors the rest of the year… Almost everyone does… They say they love them but it is all pretend…  They wear colors out… Pretty bright colors… It is not their fault the world is so dull… They get washed out… They fade… And then everyone is angry with them for not being as bright and they toss them away, get new ones… But at Christmas, _everything_ is color… Everything is _happy_ … I love colors… So pretty…”

She reached out but before she could touch the fairy lights – and either make the tree crash over them or burn herself – he grabbed her hand. He had turned on his side at some point during her little slurred speech and he was watching her, _studying_ her like he sometimes did, like he could see down to her soul, like the necessary masks she always put on didn’t fool him for one second…

“You’re so _fucking_ bright, you’re blinding.” he offered quietly, squeezing her fingers. “You’re too bright to let them wash you out, sweetheart.”

She wasn’t sure what that meant but it sounded important somehow. She felt small and fragile like one of the glass ornaments on the tree.

“Do you promise?” she asked, a bit anxious even if she didn’t really understand.

He let go of her hand to cup her cheek and she let him turn her head toward him, she let him press a kiss against her lips. It was chaste and it wasn’t a promise because he never made promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.

“I promise I’m never gonna try to ruin Christmas for you again.” he muttered against her mouth instead. “How’s that?”

“Good.” she grinned. “I love Christmas.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I think I got _that_.”

“I love my antlers too.” she added, reaching out to touch her soft plushy antlers. “Thank you.”

“You’re _so_ gonna regret tonight in the morning…” he teased, his hand trailing from her cheek to her throat. It coiled loosely around the side of her neck. “No blaming me for you putting the peeing Santa on, yeah?”

“I have to go to my parents’ Christmas brunch in the morning.” she groaned, rolling on her side to curl up closer to him, pushing a knee between his legs so she could take advantage of his body heat.

“Skip it.” he shrugged.

“Mother would kill me.” she complained.

“I’ll be your bodyguard.” he smirked, clearly finding her drunk self hilarious.

It was tempting, truth be told, because brunches at her parents on Christmas were always tedious – brunches at her  parents were tedious _as a rule_.

“What would we do instead?” she hummed, snuggling closer when he rolled on his back so she could use him as a pillow. She was tired and she wanted to sleep now. She didn’t mind if it was on a bed or on the floor. Her body felt so heavy…

“ _Fuck_ each other brainless?” he deadpanned.

“That _does_ sound more fun.” she granted thoughtfully.

“Right? I’ll even add some hot chocolate to sweeten the deal.” he teased.

“Do you know how to do it right? With whipped cream and cinnamon?” she hummed sleepily.

“I know how to boil milk. You can teach me the rest.” he declared. 

“Oh, but I cannot have hot chocolate with whipped cream…” she lamented, remembering too late. “The calories…”

“I’m gonna _fuck_ the calories out of you.” he promised. “Besides, you’re a princess, yeah? Princesses are allowed hot chocolate. Seems like it’s a rule or something.”

“I _am_ your princess, that is true…” She nuzzled his shoulder a little, stifling a yawn. “I think I will sleep now.”

“What? You mean you’re falling asleep on me?” he asked in a faked shocked voice. “ _Fucking_ didn’t notice.”

“Language.” she mumbled. “What will you do while I sleep? You will not leave, will you? You cannot leave me. You are my pillow.”

“I’m gonna watch the colors.” he said, a bit wistfully.

“Oh good, then.” She felt something being pulled off her head and she gasped a sleepy drunk gasp. “Do not steal my antlers! I love my antlers! You said they were a gift, you cannot have them back now.”

“Ain’t stealing them. Just putting them aside so you don’t crush them. Safe keeping, yeah?” He was rolling his eyes at her. She was _sure_ he was rolling his eyes at her. “I’m gonna take the wig off too, alright? You hate sleeping with that stuff on, remember?”

She did. And there was a couple of pins digging in her skull. And she loved the way he ran his fingers in her hair once it was free.

The petting lulled her to sleep.

It was the best Christmas Eve _ever_ , as far as she was concerned. Nobody could steal Christmas from her. Not even a grumpy Haymitch or an urinating Santa.

**Author's Note:**

> Did you like it? Let me know!


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